


Watering the Garden

by Josselin



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 20:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13643949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: Ancel laughed. “Even the kings are doing it, you are hardly in bad company.”





	Watering the Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [runpunkrun (Punk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk/gifts).



The court at Marlas was different from the court in Arles, Ancel observed.

The people were different, of course. Half of them were Akielon, and court business took twice as long as it had used to because it had to be repeated in each of the official languages, and court gossip flew in both languages and the pastiche of the two that began to be spoken casually in the hallways as each of the groups began learning words of the other.

Ancel was learning Akielon, and he found it quite useful talking to the Akielons and gathering information from them. The Akielon pets needed a different touch than the Veretian ones. Veretian pets were used to exchanging knowledge for favors, and the Akielon pets had no such notion. They dressed wearing almost nothing but in their behavior they were extremely modest, as a result of the king’s change in policy and most of their former status as slaves. Most of the Akielon pets seemed happy to exchange knowledge for simply a kind word and the occasional thoughtful gesture, and once Ancel determined this he made a point of portioning them out with the same regularity he doled out favors to his Veretian acquaintances who fed him useful tidbits.

Ancel drew the line, however, at learning to read in Akielon, and told Berenger that while he appreciated Berenger’s offer, learning to read had proven tedious enough in one language that Ancel had no plans to complete it in a second.

The entertainment in Marlas was different as well. The meals were simpler and limited to only three courses, “in deference to Akielon sensibilities” Ancel had overheard King Laurent say. The court was still frantically building houses around the outskirts of the palace, and because it was hard to bribe laborers away from the lucrative and noble work on the palace itself, most of the court was currently living in cramped quarters within the palace or in tents surrounding it. Courtiers were in no position to compete to entertain the king at their own residences and were dependent on King Laurent’s hospitality. Ancel had learned that the Akielons would have expected it to be that way regardless; it was apparently a traditional responsibility of the king to offer hospitality to the kyroi, the Akielon royal house having never thought of the more fiscally sound approach of pushing that expectation to the nobility.

As a consequence, all of the entertainment had to meet the taste of the kings, and was staged in the royal hall. King Damianos favored poetry and music, and Ancel observed that the longer the song about some sort of battle and gruesome fighting was, the more King Damianos seemed to like it. If it featured one of his ancestors then King Damianos seemed to like it all the better.

King Laurent preferred Veretian entertainments, though of course they all had to be adjusted to meet the Akielon modesty standards. But there were a number of skilled acrobats who performed regularly, and a troop of dancers, and a bard who told stories about ancient kings who often sounded awfully like the current kings and sometimes caused the current kings to frown.

Of course, there were still fashions, and Ancel prided himself on being on top of all of the trends, and on sometimes even setting them. Clothing styles were being blended even more quickly than languages, and Ancel had a whole wardrobe of pieces of rich Veretian fabric made in loosely draped Akielon styles. He had even convinced Berenger to try out a short Akielon-style cape on the back of one of his brown jackets.

There were sexual fashions as well.

In Arles, attending the court performances regularly was a certain method of keeping one informed of all of the latest popular sexual toys and tricks, but in Marlas, there was no such convenient source. Instead, Ancel stayed connected to the gossip at all levels of the court, listening to what courtiers said when they’d had too much to drink in the hall and to what the pets said when they were bathing in the mornings. 

The first year of the court, the fashion had been corks, and that had been easy to explain with the Veretian fascination with an Akielon sex toy that they had not previously been familiar. 

The second year Ancel had been at court, the fashion had been deep-throating, which had appealed to Ancel’s personal preference of a sense of athletic challenge accompanying his sexual ambitions, though he had long since mastered performing the art on Berenger and had little enough reason to consider it on anyone else. 

The third year was the one of the kings’ marriage, and the rumors the entire year had been about their supposed adherence to the Akielon tradition of tattooing each other’s names on their skin. Tattooing among lovers became fashionable, and then disguising the tattoo of a former lover became commonplace, and then dyes made from some sort of Vaskian plant became more fashionable than actual tattooing due to the lack of permanence. Ancel procured a set and had spent a pleasurable evening demonstrating his mastery of his letters writing possessive claims on Berenger’s chest.

The fourth year, the fashion was watering the garden. Ancel first heard of it when he was draped over a settee and flirting with some of the newest batch of Veretian courtiers, the sons of men who had been executed for their allegiance to the Regent, and who had now come into their fortunes and had come to court desperate to prove their loyalty.

“No,” one of the more naive said to another. 

His friend nodded and Ancel smiled knowingly and indulgently at the first one’s ignorance. 

“Akielons do such things, truly? That is filthy.” But a moment later he was asking, “What was the brothel where you said this was, again?” 

Ancel assumed that this was like the fashion of corks, where the Veretians were being titillated by some Akielon practice previously unknown to them.

But then, Ancel had talked with some of the former Akielon slaves on whom he bestowed make up advice, and they spent a long morning talking about the use of eye paints and offering up scandalized rumors of the new practice of watering the garden circling around the court. The Akielon pets assumed that something so depraved could have only originated in Vere, and asked Ancel for tips.

Ancel had heard of watering the garden before. There had been one gentleman who had been particularly enamored of the practice at the first brothel he had worked at, but that gentleman had also been more interested in women, and Ancel had never had a reason to consider trying the practice himself. 

Keeping up on the latest fashions usually involved inaugurating Berenger into the latest trends as an early adopter. They still had the set of corks that Ancel had bought when first learning about the Akielon toys, and Berenger enjoyed them. But this time Ancel didn’t seriously consider it. When Berenger asked him, “What is in fashion this year, Ancel?” Ancel told him about the new style of peplos tailored in velvet that Charls had been wearing.

At the start of the season, Ancel only heard mentions of the practice, and half of the court’s talk was still occupied with the previous year’s notions. 

By the middle of spring, talk was widespread enough that it was mentioned in the royal pavilion during a wrestling match, and King Damianos had clearly not heard of it before. “What’s this about a garden?”

All of the Akielons in the pavilion lowered their eyes immediately. Ancel exchanged amused glances with Lazar. Damianos could sense that his question had stirred up something and turned his gaze on his husband. 

King Laurent met it easily. “I’ll show you later.”

Ancel’s eyes widened. He leaned to whisper to Berenger next to him. “Do you really think—” but his speculation was cut off when Berenger elbowed him, and Ancel laughed instead.

In late spring, King Laurent banned all practitioners from the public baths, “for hygiene.” The primary impact of the ban was to create a lot of salacious jokes about what was likely happening in the kings’ private bath, where there was no such ban.

Ancel told one of the jokes he had heard to Berenger in their chambers one night, and Berenger had only smiled mildly, and in hindsight, that ought to have been Ancel’s clue. Berenger generally had as much interest in speculation about the kings’ sex life as any good Veretian.

In the summer, Ancel had lunch with Alexon. Heiron was the kyros of Aegina, and Alexon was Heiron’s son. Aegina was—somewhere off to the south, Ancel thought. He wasn’t actually sure and he’d never been there. It didn’t matter, because Alexon had settled in Marlas when it was founded. He was known for his skillful trade dealings, and he advised the kings on the tariff policy. 

Alexon’s sense of fashionable clothing rivaled Berenger’s, but Ancel had become friends with him quickly anyway because Alexon had a bold tongue for gossip. 

After they ate, Alexon waved at his servant to pour more spirits, and the talk turned dirty. 

Ancel shared the joke he’d been repeating about the kings’ likely use of their private bath, and Alexon laughed much more heartily than Berenger had. Alexon took up the conversation from there. “Do you think the kings are watering the garden?”

Ancel smiled slowly. A coy and flirtatious smile was an excellent distraction from any question that seemed dangerous to answer too directly. “Perhaps such a menial task is beneath them.”

Alexon was far more direct. “I think they are.”

“Do you have a source for this knowledge?” said Ancel.

“Just reasoning,” said Alexon. “They only have sex with each other and it's been several years, you would think they must try everything.” Alexon finished his glass of spirits. 

Ancel leaned in. “Which of them, do you suppose—”

Alexon frowned, considering. “Both.”

Ancel relaxed back in his chair. “Really?”

“It’s only logical,” said Alexon. “Try one way the first night, then the next night you have to do something different.”

In Ancel’s experience, that was not actually how men behaved in bed. Ancel’s experience had in fact indicated the opposite, which was that most men seemed to have some sort of habit or pattern in the bedroom, and that they did it over and over again. Louans had always liked Ancel face down on the bed and never shown the slightest interest in “trying something different.” Berenger, though he tried not to show it, always liked Ancel’s blowjobs better than anything else. Ancel tried to ensure that Berenger had one at least once a day, and Berenger had not shown any sign of becoming bored. 

Ancel decided to question Alexon further despite his skepticism. “Is that how you—?”

“Oh yes,” Alexon agreed. “I tried it. I was probably not as fast to adopt new trends as you are—” Ancel smiled modestly and didn’t correct him, “—but I tried it out. I watered Lykon first, but then he wanted to try as well, so.”

Lykon was one of Alexon’s lovers. Alexon did not keep any pets, but he had a circle of friends, mostly merchants, with whom he had sex frequently. 

“Then,” Alexon continued, “Lykon mentioned what we had done to Mesthles, and Mesthles also wanted to try, so the three of us.”

“Three of you,” said Ancel.

“Timais was also interested,” said Alexon. “He was here just last week.” Alexon lowered his voice, and Ancel leaned in, because anything scandalous enough to cause Alexon to pause was certainly worthwhile.

“Timais had the most interesting idea,” said Alexon. “We had been drinking, you see.”

“Yes,” said Ancel, encouraging.

“And then we had a most satisfying fuck. I always like how Timais uses his hips, and when he bends me over the bed,” Alexon seemed to drift off into the memory.

“What was his interesting idea?” Ancel said.

Alexon met his eyes again. “After he fucked me, Timais said, ‘What if I watered the garden now?’”

Ancel’s lack of comprehension must have shown on his face. 

“While he was still inside me,” Alexon clarified. 

Ancel’s mouth formed a surprised circle. 

Alexon nodded, raising his eyebrows. “A most interesting idea, no?”

“Did you?” said Ancel. 

“Yes,” said Alexon. “A most enjoyable sensation.” 

“Did you offer the same to Timais?” said Ancel.

Alexon laughed. “Not yet! Perhaps when I next see him.”

Timais’s interesting idea was shocking enough that Ancel went home and told Berenger about it right away. He skipped over Alexon’s silly speculation about the likely habits of the kings in the retelling, and added a few details to draw out the suspense of Timais and Alexon’s encounter. 

He was not very far into the story and laughing about the perversion of Timais, though, when he noticed that Berenger was not enjoying it.

Berenger was not always vocal with his interest. Ancel had to rely on the character of his gaze and the crinkle around his eyes and sometimes oblique questions to determine what Berenger was interested in and what Berenger simply tolerated for Ancel’s sake. Gossip about the kings was usually in the first category, fashions of capes was definitely in the second. 

Berenger’s response to the story was unusual, though. He was gazing out the window and determinedly not looking at Ancel, and he had his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re upset,” said Ancel.

Berenger looked over at that, at least. “I’m not.”

“You look upset.”

“Is it time to change for dinner?” said Berenger, looking out the window again.

“Not for hours,” said Ancel. “Did you receive bad news?” He considered Berenger’s determined staring out the window. “Are you waiting for bad news?”

“No, no,” said Berenger.

“My story upset you,” said Ancel. 

“I’m not upset.” Berenger was starting to sound upset.

Ancel had a dawning moment of understanding. “You like it.”

Berenger’s eyes widened slightly and were now resolutely focused on the floor. “Like what? Dinner? It’s tolerable—”

“Watering the garden.” Ancel crossed the room to sit next to Berenger on the window ledge. He took Berenger’s hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Berenger glanced up at Ancel’s face and then looked down at their joined hands. “It’s not—it’s not important.”

“Sex is extremely important,” Ancel said seriously, which at least earned him a small smile from Berenger.

“I don’t,” Berenger darted a glance back up at Ancel and then looked out the window again, trailing off. Ancel wondered if it would be easier for Berenger to have this conversation if they didn’t have to make eye contact, and he scooted around on the window ledge to settle himself in Berenger’s lap, leaning back against Berenger’s chest. 

He could see a bit of Berenger’s face in the reflection on the glass of the window, and he could feel Berenger’s warmth at his back. It also meant Berenger couldn’t make up some excuse and escape until Ancel got the truth out of him.

“If you had told me sooner,” Ancel said, mildly scolding, “then I could have been impressing Alexon with dirty stories and not at the mercy of Timais.”

Berenger laughed lightly. 

“It’s not,” said Berenger. “I don’t want. I mean.”

Ancel waited, just as patient now as Berenger had been with Ancel when he’d been sounding out letters in children’s books.

“I don’t think of it often,” said Berenger. That meant he thought of it all the time. How had Ancel not noticed, he wondered. He prided himself on knowing these things about Berenger. 

Ancel made an encouraging noise. “But you think of it sometimes?”

“Maybe once or twice,” said Berenger, and then, with a touch of defensiveness, “It’s all anyone is talking about this season, who could not?”

Ancel agreed reassuringly, wrapping one of Berenger’s arms around his waist. 

“But we don’t have to,” said Berenger. “I am very satisfied.” 

Ancel arched his neck and rubbed his cheek against Berenger lightly. “Do you not want to?”

“I don’t want you to feel—obligated,” said Berenger.

Ancel hummed. “I do want you to feel obligated to tell me when you have ideas of sex we should be having and aren’t,” he said.

Berenger laughed again, more sincerely this time. “But I know you are not interested.”

Ancel raised one of Berenger’s hands to his lips and pressed a kiss into it. “I shouldn’t have joked about it,” he said. “And it is not something I have given a great deal of thought to.” He shifted slightly to look Berenger in the eye, now. “But I am very interested in what you are interested in.”

Berenger looked serious. “You don’t have to be. I know it is not—a normal interest.”

Ancel laughed. “Even the kings are doing it, you are hardly in bad company.”

Berenger seemed unconvinced. 

Ancel curled closer into Berenger’s chest. “I would happily try it. But we must take all of our clothes off first, because I don’t want any of them to be damaged and I don’t trust Charlot with the washing. And we must do it at a time when I can wash my hair, afterward, if it is wet—”

“I thought,” Berenger interrupted, “That you could—on me?”

Ancel reversed his mental picture. “In that case, keep your jacket on.” 

Berenger laughed heartily, and Ancel climbed out of his lap and demonstrated the deep throating skills he’d mastered during one of the previous year’s fashions, and began to make a plan.

The plan involved convincing Berenger to go for a ride outside the palace, which was not difficult to arrange, and packing a picnic basket, except instead of filling the basket with snacks, Ancel told Parsins to pack wineskins of ale and several towels. 

Parsins gave Ancel a look, at this, but Ancel only raised an eyebrow, and Parsins conceded. After four years, the two of them had reached something of an understanding.

Riding a horse had grown slightly less awful with practice, though it was worse this afternoon than usual because Ancel had deliberately not relieved himself before they departed, and he felt especially aware, as they rode away from Marlas, of what he had planned. Since he had not spoken yet to Berenger of the specific plan for their picnic, he could not even share these thoughts, and simply asked Berenger about the morning’s meeting with the equine trader from Patras and let Berenger ramble on. Blah blah foaling program, blah blah trade agreements. 

It was summer in Marlas, and the weather was warm, so when they found a shallow stream, it was easy enough to convince Berenger that this was a good place to picnic. 

Berenger watered the horses, and Ancel arranged a picnic blanket, and by the time that Berenger had finished, Ancel had also taken off all of his clothes and had arranged himself in the middle of the blanket.

Berenger laughed. “Where is the food?” 

Ancel beckoned him closer. “This is not that type of picnic.” Once Berenger was kneeling on the edge of the blanket, Ancel caught his collar and drew him down for a kiss. 

They kissed for a few moments. The sun was warm enough that Ancel was comfortable without any of his clothes, and he squinted up at Berenger when Berenger pulled away. 

“Did you arrange this,” said Berenger, sounding slightly excited, “for us to—”

Ancel feigned lack of understanding. 

“For us to try it?” Berenger finished, and Ancel took pity on him.

“Yes.” Ancel drew Berenger in for a kiss again, reaching a hand down to feel Berenger up through his clothes and enjoying how excited Berenger seemed to be about the idea. 

Berenger started trying to undress while they were still kissing, which resulted in a lot of pleasant squirming together on the picnic blanket, and then a less-pleasant squirming that put a bit too much pressure on Ancel’s bladder.

He broke off the kiss, and Berenger looked worried. “Did I hurt you?”

“I am just—very full,” said Ancel, gesturing.

Berenger’s eyes widened, and then he reached for Ancel’s cock. 

No, he reached past Ancel’s cock to his abdomen, where Berenger pressed down gently. “Here?”

This might have been the most erotic thing that had ever happened in Ancel’s life, and Berenger hadn’t even managed to get his pants off yet. “Yes,” Ancel squeaked.

Berenger caressed Ancel’s stomach for a moment, and then applied the gentle pressure again. Ancel moaned, letting his head fall back against the blanket. “You planned for this so well,” said Berenger. “You are so good to me.”

“I’m getting hard,” said Ancel. “You have to stop, or I won’t be able to do it.”

That was incentive enough for Berenger to sit back and remove the rest of his clothes in earnest. He threw them off the side of the blanket where Ancel had folded his own clothing more carefully, and sat back down. 

Ancel took a moment to admire Berenger’s body. Berenger was turning thirty-five this year. He had broad shoulders, a lightly haired chest, and a trim waist. His cock was thickening with interest.

“How do you want to do this?” said Berenger. 

Ancel licked his lips. “How have you thought of it, when you have considered it before?” He suspected that Berenger had imagined this enough times to have already pictured a position, and judging by the way Berenger directed him to stand and then knelt in front of him, he was right.

Ancel was standing between Berenger and the noon sun, so once they were in position Berenger was squinting up at him a little bit. 

“Like this?” said Ancel, trying desperately not to become too aroused. 

“Yes, unless—do you care about this blanket?”

Ancel shook his head. He had deliberately packed an old blanket that he didn’t care if Charlot ruined in the wash, but by this point even if it had been his favorite blanket he wasn’t sure if he would have protested.

“Yes, like this,” said Berenger. Berenger looked expectant.

Ancel held his cock with one hand and took a slow breath. “How do you want me to—on your chest?”

“Wherever,” said Berenger, which probably meant that he had some specific preference that he was too shy to explain, which probably meant his face. Ancel took another breath.

“I am not sure if I can,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment and trying to relax.

Berenger waited.

Ancel let a breath out, and opened his eyes again, and then relaxed deliberately, and aimed for Berenger’s chest. 

Berenger made a pleased noise.

Ancel stopped. “Are you—is that okay?”

Berenger smiled, “Keep going!”

It was easier to relax the second time, and Ancel covered Berenger’s chest, and then aimed lower to wet his cock, as well, before he finished. 

Ancel wasn’t sure what to do next. Berenger’s chest glistened in the sunlight.

“Come here,” Berenger said, and Ancel took a step closer, and then Berenger brushed Ancel’s hand away from Ancel’s cock and took it in his own hand, and then leaned in with his mouth.

After four years, Berenger knew what Ancel liked, and he put that knowledge to good use. Ancel threaded his fingers through Berenger’s hair and let them rest lightly on his head while he pleasured Ancel.

Ancel realized that Berenger was stroking himself, at the same time. Ancel could hear the slick rhythm of it. 

Then, as Ancel was close, Berenger took his hand away from the shaft of Ancel’s cock and placed it instead on Ancel’s lower abdomen suggestively, and Ancel gasped and went over the edge.

Berenger swallowed. He always swallowed; he was very polite that way.

Ancel dropped to his knees next to Berenger, and reached for Berenger’s cock, and the two of their hands got in each other’s way as they stroked Berenger to completion also.

Afterward, Ancel lay on a dry portion of the blanket, reflecting. He was going to have to get dressed again soon, he supposed, or he would be sunburned worse than King Laurent had been when he’d returned from the Summer Palace. But he felt relaxed and not quite ready to move yet.

He turned his head toward Berenger.

“Did you like it?”

Berenger smiled and his eyes crinkled. “Very much, thank you.”

“It was—not a hardship,” Ancel said. “Though I have some ideas for how to do better.”

Berenger laughed. “Such as?”

“I would like to—on your face,” said Ancel. “Perhaps you should open your mouth. And I think we should sneak into the kings’ private bath to put it to good use at some point. Also have you ever thought about Timais’s interesting idea?”

“You mean,” said Berenger, “inside?”

Ancel nodded. 

“Not really,” said Berenger, in a way that meant he had also given that a great deal of thought. 

“There is no reason that Timais and Alexon should have more enjoyment than us,” Ancel said, and Berenger laughed again, and they were quiet for a time. 

They washed in the stream, and put on their clothes, and Berenger readied the horses. On the way back, they rode slowly, looking to the side often and smiling occasionally at each other.

“Do you think the kings—really?” said Berenger.

Ancel considered the question. He was generally of the mind that the kings were far less kinky than himself, and so he previously would have said no, based on the assessment that the kings wouldn’t do anything that he hadn’t done himself. Of course, now that metric required reconsideration. 

“Perhaps,” said Ancel, “though I would not be surprised if they simply fuck and stare into each other’s eyes every night.”

Berenger laughed, and reached over to take Ancel’s hand. “There is nothing wrong with that.”

Ancel squeezed his hand. “No. Nothing wrong at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Similar Captive Prince works by the same author](http://archiveofourown.org/series/407623), [Come talk to the author on tumblr](http://josselinkohl.tumblr.com/ask)


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